“Come to think about it, I’ll take the sofa,” she said. “And I don’t want to hear any shit. There ain’t no one going to get past me.”
They had flown here. Not on a jet. Him as a Peregrine falcon—which meant he was fast—and her as a, well, a vampire—which meant she was faster. Vamps and shape-shifters being the only two species who could really fly. Well, an occasional witch, but Miranda, her Wiccan roommate, swore they really didn’t travel around on brooms.
However, Steve and Della’s mode of transportation also meant they really hadn’t spoken since they’d left Shadow Falls, with the exception of when they’d first walked into the cabin and he’d insisted she take the bed. And why? Because if someone came through the door he would stop them.
That downright pissed her off. She almost called him on being a complete chauvinistic pig, but then realized that if she wanted to sneak out later, she wouldn’t want him traipsing into the living room before morning and finding her gone.
Since he came across as the type with manners, and morals and stuff, who wouldn’t come into a girl’s bedroom—at least not without an invitation—she’d kept her mouth shut.
Face it, she’d take the odds of him finding her gone to the odds of those mattress germs finding her body, hands down.
Steve cut his soft brown eyes to her and a knowing smile spread his lips. He ran a hand through his brown hair, which he wore a tad longer than most guys. The strands fell right back into place, looking instantly styled. She doubted he went to some professional salon to get that look, but it almost appeared like he did.
His smile widened and he tucked one hand into his jeans pocket. The stance made the muscles in that arm bulge. “So what you’re saying is that the bed is worse than the sofa?”
“I didn’t say that.” She tried not to laugh, but something close to it slipped out of her mouth. She tried not to stare at his crooked smile and what it did to his lips and eyes. Or how his muscled arms looked like a safe place to fall. She’d give anything, even half a bra size to make him . . . ugly. And unlike her two roommates at Shadow Falls, she didn’t have much bra size to offer.
She continued to stare at him. She could have dealt with an ugly guy much better than one who looked like he’d just walked off of some men’s soap advertisement. And hell, she thought, breathing in his aroma, you’d think after spending the last two hours as a bird, he wouldn’t smell like he used some spicy-smelling men’s soap, but he did.
He smelled . . . awesome, and that ticked her off, too.
If she were a witch like her bigger-boobed roommate, Miranda, she’d change him into a repulsive fowl/foul-smelling guy. And she’d also make him less . . . nice. She didn’t like nice.
The only nice person Della had grown fond of was Kylie. And she was so nice, even Della couldn’t hate her. Well, right now, Della did hate her. Hated her for leaving. And if she didn’t get her butt back to Shadow Falls soon, Della was going to drag her friend back kicking and screaming. Sure, Kylie had gone to meet her newly discovered grandfather and learn more about her species, but plain and simple, she belonged at Shadow Falls. Someone had to keep Della and Miranda from killing each other. And no one was better at that than Kylie.
“We could both sleep on the sofa,” Steve said, and damn if he didn’t sound serious.
“Not even in your dreams, bird boy!” she snapped.
“Ouch,” he said and chuckled. “I only meant your head at one end and mine at the other. Only our feet would be touching.”
“So you’ve got a foot fetish, do you?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Humor brightened his eyes. With him positioned right in front of the bare window, and the last rays of the setting sun beaming in, she got a good look at those eyes. Were those flecks of amber and green in his brown pools?
His gaze lowered to her Nike-covered size sixes. “I don’t know, I haven’t seen your naked feet.”
Hearing him say the word naked with what sounded like a deep Southern accent, deeper than Texas, made her stomach flutter like she was twelve again and had never been kissed. Good Lord, what was wrong with her? Since when did she find a Southern accent seductive?
She stuck one foot behind the other. “And you won’t see them naked,” she snapped, not liking that they’d been here less than five minutes and they were already . . . flirting. At least it felt like flirting.
And Della Tsang didn’t flirt.
Not anymore.
His gaze rose from her feet. “We’ll see about that,” he said.
They stood there staring at each other for a second. Then he spoke up. “You want to go grab a bite to eat?”
She frowned. “I brought a couple pints of AB positive with me in my bag.” Which she needed to put in the fridge. While most vamps preferred their blood warm, Della liked it better cold. When your core temperature was 92 degrees, you appreciated things colder than yourself.
“Yeah, but I need food. Something hot and greasy. Nutrients for whatever the hell is gonna go down tomorrow morning.”
Steve had been set up to play as her shape-shifter boyfriend, a guy she’d met after running away from home. They didn’t allow anyone but vampires into the gang, but if she got accepted, and he could prove his worth to them, he would be brought in as an “extra.” Basically someone they sent out to do their dirty work. Which was part of the reason it pissed her off that Burnett insisted he come. Extras were considered expendable.
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” she said.
“That just warms my heart.” He put a hand over his wide chest. “Come on, go with me to grab a burger.”
He made it sound like a date or something. Frowning, she was about to call him on it when she remembered seeing a Walmart not far from there and close to some fast-food joints. She could pick up a set of sheets, a blanket, and some extra-strength Lysol spray and maybe be able to sleep on the bed. That meant she could skip out on the foot-loving, Southern-speaking Steve. She wouldn’t be gone long. She only needed a peek. A peek at the life she’d been cheated out of.
“Fine.” She lit out of the room.
He lit out with her, and within seconds had transformed into a hauling-ass Peregrine falcon. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she’d heard this was one of the fastest birds that existed. It wasn’t a half-bad-looking animal, either. Its feathers were a blend of browns, tans, and black. Its eyes were striking, round, with large black pupils that seemed to take everything in. And when it stretched out its wings, it almost looked like it had leopard spots.
Della didn’t know a whole lot about shape-shifters, but she’d heard once that one sign of their power was they could shift quickly. He’d shifted into a bird pretty damn quickly. Not that she was impressed or anything.
Sort of like flirting, Della Tsang didn’t get impressed. Not about guys.
Not anymore.
Not since she’d turned vampire, turned cold, and had her heart shattered into tiny little bitty pieces by the guy who was supposed to love her forever.
• • •
Della landed with a thud on the pavement in the back of Walmart. Steve, still a bird, landed elegantly beside her. His wings stretched out wide.
Immediately, he started turning back into human form, and as always when a shifter turned, sparkly bubbles began floating around. One of his transformation bubbles lingering in the evening air popped on her arm and sent a tiny electric current up her elbow, zinging like she’d walked on carpet and then touched something metal.
“What are we doing here?” Steve asked, looking confused.
“Bedding and disinfectant.” She brushed off her elbow then looked up. The sky was darkening, and the stars hadn’t yet come out to play. Lifting her nose in the air, her vampire sense of smell caught the hint of werewolf under the strong scent of motor oil.
“Something wrong?” Steve asked.
“A few werewolves, but not too close.”
He frowned. “Damn, let’s grab what you need, snag
me a burger, and get the hell back.”
She smirked. “You scared of a couple of werewolves?”
“Scared, no. But we don’t need any trouble right now.” He started walking.
She moved with him. “Sometimes trouble is fun.”
“Yeah, but let’s save our energy for any trouble that finds us tomorrow.”
“Anyone ever accuse you of being boring?” she snipped.
“No, but I’ll admit, I’m more of a lover than a fighter.”
She kept an eye on the dark shadows, making sure something didn’t lurk there. “Please, that’s so lame.”
“Lame, but true.” Humor sounded in his voice.
“I’ll stick with lame,” she muttered.
She imagined him smiling again, but afraid she’d be pulled into his smile, she didn’t chance looking at him. Hearing the laughter in his voice gave her stomach flutters. Or was she just hungry and needing some blood?
Entering the store, they made fast work of buying two flat sheets, a couple of pillowcases, two blankets, and some disinfectant. And Steve tossed in a bag of chips. At the fast-food place next door he got his burger to go, but he wolfed it down as they left the joint to find a desolate spot for him to transform so they could head back.
He’d finished the burger when they started down a dark alley behind the strip center. She noticed he stuffed the sandwich wrapper in his pocket. The guy didn’t even litter, never mind the alley was covered in trash. They only got about ten feet down when they heard a scream.
A life-or-death-sounding scream.
Dying to find out what happens next?
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About the Author
New York Times bestselling author Christie Craig grew up in Alabama, where she caught lightning bugs, ran barefoot, and regularly rescued potential princes, in the form of bullfrogs, from her brothers. Today, she’s still fascinated with lightning bugs, mostly wears shoes, but has turned her focus to rescuing mammals and hasn’t kissed a frog in years. She now lives in Texas with her four rescued cats, one dog—who has a bad habit of eating furniture, a son, and a prince of a husband who swears he’s not, and never was, a frog.
If Christie isn’t writing, she’s reading, sipping wine, or just enjoying laughter with her friends and family. As a freelance writer, Christie has over 3,000 national credits, as well as three works of non-fiction, including the humorous self-help/relationship book, Wild, Wicked & Wanton: 101 Ways to Love Like You’re in a Romance Novel. Christie writes humorous romances novels for Grand Central, as well as the New York Times-bestselling Shadow Falls series, under the pen name C.C. Hunter. Contact Christie—she loves hearing from readers—or learn more about her and her work through her website: www.christie-craig.com
Contents
Dear Readers,
Rave Reviews for Christie Craig!
I Need You
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Other Books by Christie Craig
Excerpt from Texas Hold ’Em
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Excerpt from Saved at Sunrise
Chapter One
About the Author
Table of Contents
Dear Readers,
Rave Reviews for Christie Craig!
I Need You
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Other Books by Christie Craig
Excerpt from Texas Hold ’Em
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Excerpt from Saved at Sunrise
Chapter One
About the Author
The Cop Who Stole Christmas (Tall, Hot & Texan) Page 20